Yo. Changes are coming soon to the blog. So if you notice things missing or moving around, it's probably on purpose. Just sayin'. xo (10-1-14)

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Conversations With Friends

"Hey, what are you doing for dinner tonight?"

"I have half a bottle of wine I need to finish off."

"Cool. What are you having with it?"

"A glass?"


Thursday, August 25, 2011

This happened today...

My trashy neighbors just hit a new level.
Yes, that is her underwear hanging out to dry.
No, I do not know why just her underwear was wet.
You totally want my life. Just admit it.

i missed my exit #themesong

This is in response to a music meme borrowed from a friend, borrowed from his friend. Because the interwebs get around like that. The themesong: a music meme details can be found here, including a link to the calendar of themes. Each day has a new theme, and you post on days that grab you.

Exit Music (For a Film) by Radiohead, but covered by Vampire Weekend. Because then I get to talk about both bands, and that makes me happy.

This song was written by Radiohead for the end credits of Romeo + Juliet (1996) but was purposefully left off the soundtracks released for the film at the request of Thom Yorke. However, Radiohead did include it on their 1997 album OK Computer. Following along so far? Good. Vampire Weekend was quick to cover the song, because why wouldn't they? It's a great song, and even Baz Lurhmann considers it to be one of the greatest end credit songs ever written for a film.

Now we reverse the connection. Vampire Weekend released the album Contra in January 2010. The opening track off the album is Horchata. The added percussionist on the song is Mauro Refosco, who recently joined Thom Yorke's solo band (along with Flea, Joey Waronker, and producer Nigel Godrich). Is this an example of great music connections? Or just further proof of the incestious nature of the music industry?



Tuesday, August 23, 2011

1996 #themesong

This is in response to a music meme borrowed from a friend, borrowed from his friend. Because the interwebs get around like that. The themesong: a music meme details can be found here, including a link to the calendar of themes. Each day has a new theme, and you post on days that grab you.

I graduated high school in 1996 at the age of 16. I turned 17 a few weeks later, but it was still crazy young and I had no idea what I was doing with my life. Except escaping the life I was living. So off to college I went to meet new friends, learn new things, and try to become the person I wanted to be.

I met some of the most amazing people my freshman year, and they are still very amazing people in my life today. I will never forget the crazy hijinks we pulled off, or the lessons I learned. One (possibly drunken) night the girl who lived across the hall (you know who you are) played this song for us. She wanted to know if we thought it was sexy enough to give a lap dance to for her boyfriend. The consensus was yes.

Looking back, holy hell what were we thinking? Does it get any cheesier than this song? Really? A lap dance? Was he all "damn baby you're sexy. and this whole mouth thing, yeah, sexy"? Or was he thinking "fuck, only girls pick shitty ass songs like this to try to sex me up to"?

Mouth, Merril Bainbridge

Monday, August 22, 2011

And you call yourself a spa...

"Happy Birthday Babe! Open your gift."

Hooray! A gift! For me! Hooray!

"Oh. It's a giftcard. To a spa. For a massage. Yeah, you need to take this back."

"Babe. It's a spa. For a massage. I thought you would like that."

"Yeah, I don't do spas. Or massages. I don't like strangers touching me in my naughty bits."

"They don't do that. You're thinking of brothels."

"They're the same! I read about it on the news!" (Ok, fine. On the internet. Whatevs, it's all the same.)

"I'll go with you. We'll do a couples massage so you won't be alone. You'll see."

Grumble, grumble. I agreed and then immediately forgot the conversation ever happened. I would NOT go to a whore house so a stranger could touch my naughty bits, and definitely wouldn't do it covered in mud or oil or with cucumbers over my eyes.

Weeks passed. Days even. One day the boyfriend came home and said "Get in the car. We're going somewhere special."

"Oooh, what should I wear? Should I have shaved my legs? Should I put my eatin' pants on? What about lip gloss? Is this place worthy of finding my lip gloss?"

"Just get in the car."

"Are we there yet? Where are we going? My socks don't match. Will they care? Are we going to buy new socks?"

We pulled into the parking lot of Heavenly Massage.

"This is a strip club! You brought me to a strip club! I asked you if I needed to shave and you said no!"

"This is not a strip club. It's a spa. We're here for a couples massage."

Sigh. Apparently it was time to hold up my begrudged acceptance of this event.

We went into the spa and they handed us robes and slippers. We were instructed to get undressed, put on the robes, and then wait in the lounge until our room was ready. I got mostly naked but left my bra and underwear on. Had to protect the no-no bits from the massage-molesters.

We were led into our room and instructed to take off the robes, lay down on the massage tables, and drape the sheets over ourselves. Our masseuses would be there shortly.

"Are you wearing your bra still? You can take that off. They won't touch your boobs, and the sheet is covering them too."

"I'm still not talking to you for bringing me to this whore house."

Two pleasant not-at-all-whorish looking women entered the room to start our couples massage. My gal started at my shoulders and worked her hands down my back. She unsnapped my bra one-handed and faster than the boyfriend ever had. I was impressed and appalled all at once.

"Did you just flick my bra open with a snap? Can you please teach the boyfriend how to do that? And can you refrain from touching my boobies?"

"Shhhh. Try to relax." (I couldn't see her face but I'm pretty sure she was rolling her eyes at me.)

She continued to work her hands down my back, and onto my legs. After she was done with my feet she told me to turn over.

"Are you trying to touch my down under?!"

"Your what?" A look of horror crossing her face.

"My down under. My secret pocket. My naughty bits. Is this a brothel? I don't want a happy ending from you."

With a deep sigh from the boyfriend: "For the last time this is not a brothel. They are not trying to touch your naughty bits. Just lay down and try to relax."

"If they try to touch your wiener we are so out of here."

"I think we're done now. You can get dressed." And with that both of the lovely, apparently not whores, left the room.

"Babe, you are the only person I know who can get us kicked out of a spa. Next year for your birthday you're getting jewelry."

Did you hear that?! Jewelry! For me! Hooray!

Note: This tragic event took place many moons ago, and many boyfriends ago too. More importantly, it took place many spas ago. I have successfully spa'd many times without calling anyone a whore. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Puking Bear

Restaurant mascots freak me the fuck out. Seriously. If I run into one on the street I will make every effort to get as far away from them as I can. And stat. I'm sorry but I do not want to be accosted by a giant hotdog or cup of soda. It creeps me out to know the guy inside is probably in his underwear and sweating up a storm of germs.

I once knew a guy whose side job was dressing up as a giant bear for story time at Borders. The last time he ever wore the costume was legendary. He went to work still a little drunk from the night before. A mistake he regrets to this day. The costume was ungodly hot inside as always. And if you don't know this, you should: still drunk plus hot and sweaty do not go together. After thirty minutes of ankle biters crawling all over him the hot costume plus tiny knees and fists to the stomach got the best of him. He tried to make a run for the bathroom, but the kids thought it was a chasing game. In his attempt to run away he tripped, threw up inside the bear head, which then fell off and rolled away spilling puke as it went. Children were traumatized that day. So were some parents.

So that is what I think about when I see these mascots walking around the sidewalks handing out flyers. I imagine them as ticking time bombs waiting to blow their lids off, literally.

         


Saturday, August 13, 2011

Don't Touch or Lick Anything

I love when kids stop in the office. I really do. I think they brighten the place up and offer some color commentary to a normally boring day. Because kids say and do the cutest stuff when mom or dad take them to the office.

But there's an ugly side to this adventure too.

Things you don't want to overhear a parent say to their child in the office:

"Honey, put the knife back where you found it."
"Would you please put your pants back on."
"Sweetie, mommy doesn't like when you climb on the table and dance."
"No honey, we do not lick things in public. Put the stapler back."
"Stop touching yourself."
"I will leave you here."

All of these are actual statements I've overheard at various jobs. Except the last one. I just never want to hear that one. Ever. Also, the first one? Yeah, that office had no kitchen. Think about it.

What have you heard, that you wish you hadn't, when kids are in the office?

Sunday, August 7, 2011

I look like a homeless wet dog

I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm covered in mud. As in wringing out my clothes and dripping wet. I am in desperate need of a shower. But I survived Lolla 2011 and that's all I care about.

Saw Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr, Flogging Molly, Cage the Elephant, Arctic Monkeys, Explosions in the Sky, some random DJ I never bothered to learn the name of, and Foo Fighters.

It poured twice, and I do mean POURED. The skies opened up and drenched us for a good solid 30 minutes each time, with drizzling rain between. The ground was a giant Grant Park sized mud pit. There was no escaping the filth. But I didn't care, because the only thing I love more than music is a music fest with friends. And oh, we rocked it.

Here are my terrible photos in the rain. I couldn't get any good ones because I didn't want my phone to get soaked. And it poured during Arctic Monkeys and Explosions in the Sky so there are no shots of them at all. Or of Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr because I just didn't think to get any pics. To make up for the bad photos I included some bonus shots you didn't need to see. Yeah...

Cage The Elephant from far away

Flogging Molly rocked it! (also far away)

Some dudes draining the pipes on a fence ( way too close)

Oh noes, the skies are angry. RAIN!

Foo Fighters from really, really far away


I look like a wet homeless dog. But I'm happy!

Also, I made a rookie mistake and I'm a little ashamed of it. I forgot ear plugs. You always, always bring ear plugs to these things so you don't blow out your ear drums. Sigh, I can't hear a damm thing right now and we didn't even get that close to the stages. I'll go hang my head in shame now.

30 Songs in 30 Minutes

Saw the band 7th Heaven last night and they do this thing called 30 Songs in 30 Minutes. Yep, they literally play about one minute of thirty different songs in about thirty minutes. Without pause. Yeah, it's as cool as you think it is. The drummer has got to be tired after thirty minutes of constant play. I got tired just watching him.

Here's a link to about 10 minutes of their studio session. But you've gotta see this live sometime. If you know all thirty songs you're my hero (Jenny).


Oh, I also got to drink in another church. Always a pleasure (for me, not them).

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Lollapalooza

The blog is back! Well, it was always here, but no new posts went up during the changes. I know you've been dying to know what I ate for lunch, who I ran into at Starbucks, and how many pretzels I can fit in my mouth. But none of that's important, because check out the new stuffs!

Also, here's a new post about Lollapalooza. (Oh right, you're here to read stuff, not just stare at pretty things. Silly me.)

I'm not a fan of Lolla. I say that but I've never even been before. It just feels like a cluster fuck of mania when I think about it. But this year I'm putting my feelings aside and giving it a shot. With a day pass.

Sunday, August 7th I'll be at Lolla starting around 3:00pm. It will be a madhouse. It will be insanely crowded. The toilets will be unusable beyond their norm. People will wreak of booze and sweat and possibly vomit depending on the crowd. But I'm all in this year. For one day only.

Below are the bands you can find me watching. Feel free to catch up with me if you'll be there. DM me if you want to guarantee some face time. If you have my cell # even better. Texting is better than email on the day of.

3:15 Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr (tentative) Google+ stage
4:15 Flogging Molly  Bud Light stage
5:15 Cage the Elephant  Playstation stage
6:15 open wandering/food/beer time
7:00 Explosions in the Sky Sony stage
8:00 Foo Fighters Music Unlimited stage

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Men at Work

I just have to say that I've met my maintenance guy. He's a total sweetheart. And when you talk to him his English is perfect. It should be seeing as he grew up a stone's throw from here, and so did his parents. And yet every time he's been by for repairs, he leaves the most fucked up notes on the kitchen counter. Apparently he does this because its funny. I hate to admit it, but I do look forward to the notes. They make me smile every time without fail.


Monday, August 1, 2011

Dear Bruise On My Foot

Dear bruise on my foot,
I know when I got you (two weeks ago at the PWT's show). I even know who gave you to me (22 year old tartlet who stepped on me trying to get Tom's attention, who btw is ten years her senior so yeah, probably not gonna happen, but maybe). What I don't know, or understand, is why you are still here after two weeks.

The last time I had a bruise on my foot (which incidentally was in roughly the same spot) was a year or two ago at a wedding. I got drunk (I know right) and was dancing like a fool at the reception. My girl Jewels was drunk (again, I know) and she stepped on me with her spike heels. That bruise was waaaaay worse and lasted only a week. (Also, totally worth it.)

So bruise on my foot, why do you stick around? I can't wear my favorite shoes until you go away, because they rub you in all the wrong ways. What are you lingering for? What's got you so hurt that you just can't heal? Also, why do you hurt so much after the black and blue and purple color has gone away?  I think maybe we need to take a break. It's not you, it's me.

Also, maybe I should start wearing combat boots when I get drunk and dance. Apparently I get stepped on a lot, and I'm not sure if it's me or them making that happen. Let's just assume it's me for now. (It's totally gotta be me.)

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